


Ordinary Vanity

by EmbryonicHarmonic



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Fondling, Gen, Molestation, Psychological Torture, Strangulation, Torture, imprisoned Aymeric, physical violence, possibly a real fic, shameless self indulgence, violence and variations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2020-07-29 06:56:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20078017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmbryonicHarmonic/pseuds/EmbryonicHarmonic
Summary: Captured by the Garleans, Aymeric must find a way to endure whatever nightmarish torture that Zenos has planned for him. If he can hold out until rescue comes...He did it at the Vault, he can do it again.





	1. Chapter 1

His body was crushed against the stone, one hand braced against it with his elbow grinding against the black armor of the Garlean pressed up against him. His other arm was twisted behind his back, and he couldn’t push free. But Zenos wasn’t going to just let him go. Each moment of resistance was pushed further. Zenos had barely moved, his presence serving to shrink his cell down to nothing more than his now limited personal space. 

A cold hand came under his arm, gripping his chin and forcing his head to turn against the stone, to look up over his shoulder at the blond man staring down at him. Staring with a bored expression. Aymeric sucked in a sharp breath, trying to push back against the Garlean. He failed, Zenos did not budge even the slightest. 

The grip on his jaw tightened, and Aymeric pulled his head back to try to free himself. He knew the cell was open. He knew if he could just get out from under Zenos, he could run for it. He could make it. 

But Zenos had at least a fulm and a half on him. And an iron grip on his arm, and his jaw. No matter how Aymeric struggled, pushed, squirmed, Zenos did not move. The silence was broken only by the rustling of armor, of Aymeric trying to push and find his footing. Zenos never said a word. And that was the worst part, wasn’t it? That he was silent. That he refused to speak, he just stood motionless, and watched without a sound.

A finger slowly slid over his lips, and Aymeric tried to jerk away. It did nothing to properly free himself, Zenos had a strong grip on him, and he couldn’t seem to gain any sort of reprieve. The Garlean seemed ready to grind him against the stone until there was no skin left on his face. Zenos couldn’t be moved. The hand on his jaw slid down to his throat, and Aymeric forced himself to still his breathing. To remember his training. He had to be stronger, he was now. The Vault had broken him but he had been remade! He would not be crushed under the heel of a Garlean boot. 

Zenos grip tightened on his throat, slowly. The Elezen sucked in a sharp breath before his airway was squeezed shut. He shoved back against Zenos. The motion was quick, causing the taller man to actually shift. Aymeric took his chance, twisting around until his arm was freed. He still had his wits, he still had his footing. He ran for the cell door. It was open, he could get out. If he could get out, he could get to safety and--

And he got out of the cell. 

Aymeric turned, briefly. Zenos had started to follow at a slow, deliberate pace. There’s no way he was being let go. 

He ran. 

Aymeric remembered the twisted halls, the way out of this hopefully short-lived nightmare. The alarms began to go off, troops starting to come out of the halls and rooms after him. He was not an unskilled man. The Lord Commander of Ishgard was still a formidable force. Even without his sword, he was powerful. There were still bodies left behind him, a sword stolen off of one of them. All he had to do was get outside. 

That was rapidly becoming far easier said than done. There were more soldiers. More bodies to be cut down. Was Zenos just throwing people at him in an attempt to stop him? It was starting to seem just that way. 

But Aymeric was a man. 

He was rapidly backed against the wall, lances raised to keep him corralled. Sweat had started to gather on his brow, and with one swing he struck down another who had come to attack him. But behind them, parting the sea of bodies and still walking at a slow pace, was Zenos. 

He struck another down. Then a third. A fifth. With each blow he felt the strain in his arm, with each body he felled Zenos grew closer until the man was on top of him. The sword was struck from him. Zenos’ hand shot out, gripping his throat. His feet left the ground and he was slammed against the wall. His hands grabbed at Zenos’ wrist, legs trying to find footing. Aymeric gagged, struggling to breathe as he stared into his captor’s darkened eyes. 

Zenos smiled, and Aymeric felt a twinge of fear in the back of his mind. 

He was lowered back to his feet, but Zenos did not let go of him. Each breath was strained, and despite how Aymeric pulled at the man’s fingers, he could not be moved. Wordlessly, Zenos turned, dragging Aymeric back down the very corridors he had run from. He could not break free, and Zenos had no care if he stumbled over the very corpses he had left in his attempt to run. .

_’It won’t be the last time. They will make mistakes, and then I will have my freedom.’_ Aymeric told himself as he was dragged along. It was all he could do. Zenos still said nothing. Even when he was dragged back into his cell, there were no words. 

Zenos all-but threw him back against the wall, finally releasing his hold. Aymeric gasped, coughing and rubbing at his throat. The door was still open, and Zenos was leaving. Was this a trap? A trick? It certainly was feeling like one, but Aymerc was not a man known for letting opportunities slip by. He waited until he could not hear the heavy footsteps before he moved. Each step as silent as he could make it. The door hadn’t been closed, but there had to be a reason for it, wasn’t there? Was Zenos waiting for him to run again, to get some sort of sick pleasure out of this? 

It felt like there was no good answer, but Aymeric crossed the threshold anyways.


	2. Defiant Vanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aymeric's imprisonment gets more... metallic.

Aymeric tugged first at the shackle around his ankle, and then at the chain jutting out of a hole in the wall. He had been doing this every few seconds since he had been actually chained up. It had taken three escape attempts to actually do so. 

The cell door was open. Still open. Taunting him. If he stretched as far out as possible, on one foot, his body stretched diagonally, he could almost touch the open doorway. 

He still had not slept. In the hours he had been locked up, he had not slept. Not when Zenos could just come in. And he knew it was a matter of time, the armored Garlean had caught him every single time, and just stood outside of his cell. Bit by bit, just staring silently. Zenos still had not spoken a word, and Aymeric was starting to hate it. There was no reason why he was being held here, if he was some political prisoner. Surely Ishgard was up in arms. Surely the Alliance was thinking of ways to free him.

Surely Artorias was--

No. No, he couldn’t allow himself to think about the Xaela - no, the _dragon_ \- right now. He had to assure himself that Artorias would find a way to rendezvous with him once he could get free. Each time he had gotten closer and closer to the actual gates. Maybe this was supposed to hinder his progress, and unfortunately it was so far. Aymeric was not the strongest man in Eorzea, especially not compared to Raubhan or even Artorias himself. His talents laid far more in his mind than with his blade. He had to think a proper way out of this. 

At least the chain afforded him a broad range of motion. He could pace around the cell rather freely, and it made thinking much easier, as long as he ignored the sound of metal dragging on stone. He didn’t have any tools, and the thoughts of snapping off parts of his rather ornate vestments did occur to him. He had no real talent lockpicking, but surely something could be done. 

Aymeric stopped pacing in front of the open door, starting to look his clothes over for something that would be proper for such an attempt. He looked up when he heard the sound of heavy footsteps, and his chest tightened. The shadow of a great man and large armor fell over the hallway, and Aymeric stood his ground. He would face Zenos, always. 

When the Garlean appeared, flanked by two ordinary soldiers, one carrying a pile of clothes, Aymeric felt an urge to run. Not away, not to cower, but the desire to run for the gates was strong again. 

“On your knees.” One of the soldiers spoke. 

Zenos had yet to say a word. 

Aymeric refused. Twice. 

He would not kneel, or bow, or surrender in any fashion or form to--

There was the clicking of a mechanism behind him, and then his leg was pulled out from under him. 

Aymeric gasped and fell, hitting his knees as the chain locked in place. His range had shortened, but the main goal had been achieved, he had been forced to kneel. 

In his moment of stunned silence, the two men moved. His arms were grabbed. His elaborate, Ishgardian clothes were pulled from him, and he was all-but forced into cheap, thin clothes that were already stained with what he hoped was just old blood. It was so fast, and very efficient. They had done this before, and one of the soldiers was already departing with his clothes. He felt incredibly naked and defenseless, even though he was technically wearing rather modest clothes. 

But Zenos never said a word. That blank helmet just stared back at him while he regained himself. 

Aymeric tried to stand again, and the mechanism clicked. His leg was pulled out from under him again. And again. And again until he was shoved against the wall. He couldn’t get higher than one knee. 

The heavy footsteps made his insides twist, and he looked up as Zenos’ shadow fell over him. His heart hammered in his chest, despite how his eyes narrowed and he set his jaw. 

“Do your worst. I will never submit to y--”

There was a crack and pain exploded in his jaw. Aymeric fell to the side, hitting the stone floor with a sharp gasp. He brought a hand up to his mouth, wincing at the immediate swelling. He glared at the form standing over him, and stubbornly pushed himself up again. To his knees. If he had the ability, he would stand. 

This time he saw it coming, the back of Zenos’ gauntlet once more striking him in the face. He tried to catch himself, his cheek starting to swell. Aymeric brought a hand up to his face, finding the skin tender but not bleeding. 

He pushed himself up a third time. 

And a fourth.   
He stopped counting when blood started to gush from his nose, and the world was spinning when he got his arms under him. One of his eyes wouldn’t open. He could taste copper on his lips. He worried, in the back of his mind, that he would drown in it. 

He had to keep getting up. To show the Garleans that he would not bow. He refused to bow. 

Over and over, he was struck down. There was blood splattered on the floor, on the rags he now wore, on the black armor that had no mercy inside. 

His head bounced off of the floor, and the darkness finally overcame him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your feedback so far. Every comment makes me want to keep writing! <3


	3. Broken Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is time to be broken.

How long he had been unconscious, he did not know. 

His head throbbed when he slowly came around, finding himself starting to shiver from the cold. The blood had dried on his head, caked on his face and leaving him filthy and feeling rather vile. Aymeric slowly pushed himself to his knees, finding his leg still shackled into the wall. It took several moments for the world to stop spinning, and he had to hold deep to everything he knew, and everything he learned. Hold strong if being tortured. Never break. Be stronger than you have ever been. 

He needed to be strong. Stronger than he had ever been. 

But he would be lying if he said the sound of heavy footsteps down the hallway did not make his stomach turn into knots. 

Aymeric forced himself to look up, at the towering, monstrous visage of Zenos before him. 

“Pathetic.” 

The voice was worse. Him finally speaking was worse. Aymeric flinched. Each step, through the door, towards him, looming over him, made his heart pound faster. Aymeric wasn’t sure if he could actually fight, not right now. Was he pale and afraid? Aymeric wasn’t entirely sure. 

Fury above, he wished, hoped, _prayed_ for the famed and fabled dragon he loved to burst through the doors now, to save him. 

A hand reached out, grasping a fistful of his hair and wrenching his head up. Aymeric clenched his jaw, trying to raise his hands to do something. Anything. Anything to fight back at all. His fingers trembled, sliding against the smooth armor, keeping him from doing anything, nothing he could do would actually save him. He knew it. He just had to not break. To not bow. Not of his own free will. 

A heavy, thick shackle - no a collar - locked around his throat, and when Zenos let go of him, Aymeric had to catch himself. It was heavier than anything that he should have needed to endure, and he struggled to keep his head raised. He would not bow his head. He would not let himself be crushed into servitude! 

Zenos was already leaving. With no more words said. 

That was what scared him. Not knowing what the Garlean princeling was planning. What was going on in that twisted head of his. Aymeric couldn’t begin to fathom such a thing. His arms were trembling already, and only then did he truly realize he had likely been down in the depths for days, and not given any food, or water. The fatigue and the pain, the weight of the metal and of his failure, all were beginning to crush him.

He would _not_ bow his head! He would not! 

Minutes ticked by. 

His arms ached. His breaths shuddered. He could feel the strain shooting through him, pain in his arms, in his back. He couldn’t pull in his leg to sit up and put some pressure off of his arms, and he refused to lie down. If Zenos was going to treat him like… this, then he refused to be crushed, he refused to be treated like some _dog._

Minutes ticked into hours. 

Aymeric was shaking, breathing heavily. Sweat dripped off of his forehead, and his hair clung to his face. He was so hungry. Thirsty. Tired. He needed to be stronger than this. Surely he’d be found soon. Surely he’d… someone would find him, and he would be okay. He would be strong. Ishgard needed him to be strong, and he would be perfectly fine. As long as he kept his head up. As long as he kept his head held high, like the Lord Commander he truly was. A proper Ishgardian. A true, strong man. 

But the chain was so heavy. The collar was heavy, and the pain was in every part of him. He couldn’t distract himself from it. Even the various payers he was taught, the ones that were deeply ingrained in his very soul could only be repeated so many times before even Halone herself could not divert his mind from the absolute agony within him. 

His arm gave out. 

Aymeric fell face-first into the stone floor. His arm, the one that Charibert had burned, twitched in an attempt to move. It was numb, and he tried so hard to move. He propped himself up with one arm, he couldn’t get his other one to move. He just couldn’t do it. 

“S-seven hells…” He hissed, the chain weighing down as he tried again to keep his head up. 

He couldn’t, and he was too stubborn to admit it to himself. 

He was left there, lying on the stone for hours. Until his hunger gnawed at him, until his throat was so parched that he couldn’t spit out words. Until he was too weak to even raise his head. 

Aymeric slowly opened his eyes when a shadow fell over him, his vision blurring as he stared up at the terrible, monstrous silhouette of Zenos. He tried to move, his body jerking as he tried to get up. To get out of the way. He couldn’t, his attempts to get to his knees doomed to failure. He managed a staggering try before he fell again, his head bowed at Zenos’ feet. He wanted to fight, the spirit was there, but he was being broken, bit by bit. 

A bowl of water was placed in front of him. 

Aymeric thought, briefly, that it may have been poisoned. He found he didn’t care. 

He slowly started to sit up when Zenos pressed his foot down sharply onto his back. He couldn’t push against it. 

His stomach dropped out when he realized what this was. It was a dish for a dog. If he wanted water, he would have to drink like a dog, or Zenos would drown him in the very dish before him. 

Aymeric wanted to fight. He wanted to scream and resist and force himself to victory. That he wasn’t weak, he wasn’t a useless man. That he was strong, because Ishgard needed him to be strong. He had to be, he _had_ to be strong. 

But he was not strong. 

Aymeric closed his eyes, and drank.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as some shameless self indulgence, and I'm hoping feedback will make me want to continue it.


End file.
